


Nights Of Wine And Blood

by Laure Alexander (ladyoneill)



Series: The Alpha Series [20]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/F, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/Laure%20Alexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Paris in 1920 and Spike and Drusilla meet up with Darla and spend some time catching up and slaughtering people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights Of Wine And Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on July 20, 2004 and written as a back-up fic for the Fanged Four Ficathon for darling_effect who wanted Spike/Drusilla, Darla/Drusilla, 1920s, Paris, Montmartre, no minor Aurelians, a decadent meal at a French bistro, followed by wanton destruction, dark smut, with no fluff.

Spike tilted his glass to his lips and drank the remaining Burgundy. It was an excellent vintage. He'd chosen the bistro for its wine cellar, not its food, since none of his party could really taste much of the food.

The wine, though...that they could taste. Fruity, musky, tart...almost as good as blood.

There was an idea.

"Oh yes, luvie, when we're done slaughtering them all we can mix their blood with the wine and drink to our hearts' content," Drusilla whispered loudly, luckily in English. Chances were that none of the other patrons had understood her.

At least none of them got up to flee.

It was 1920 and they were in Paris. Drusilla had wanted to shop for new frocks and Russia simply wasn't enjoyable since the Revolution. After nearly two years of listening to Drusilla complain about dreariness, he'd finally packed them up and moved them out of Moscow. They'd traveled for nearly a year, leaving a trail of corpses behind them, and finally wound up in the City of Lights where she could find the best in fashion.

Spike had always liked Paris, even if the French people did get his English nose out of joint. But, then, he was a vampire and he could just kill them.

As he poured another glass of wine, he glanced from beneath hooded eyes at their companion. It had been over a decade since they'd seen her, but, of course, she hadn't changed.

Darla cocked one inquisitive eye at him and sucked a bite of heavily spiced chicken off her fork. "Yes, William?"

He bit back the name correction and smiled civilly. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Good food, better wine, pleasant company, and the moon is full." At her request, they sat at a table on the sidewalk, high up the side of Montmartre.

"And you have your view," he nodded at the buildings spilling down the hill and gaily dressed people doing the same. Music from the cabaret across the street joined the mixture of sounds-- voices, the rumble of automobile engines, the clinking of silver and glass.

"Grandmummy needs her view," Drusilla crooned, picking up a strawberry and popping it in her mouth.

"The higher the better," Darla answered, brushing one finger across the other vampire's lips, then tasting the lingering bit of strawberry juice. "Sweet."

Drusilla grinned and leaned over to press her lips to Darla's.

Spike watched with minor interest, noting the looks they were garnering with even less interest. Stretching his legs out, he sipped more wine and waited for the witching hour.

*****

By midnight, most of the patrons had left the bistro for other pursuits and the streets were empty of all but a few people heading home or to the cabarets and other dens of iniquity, and, of course, the inevitable whores trolling for customers.

Their waiter came with their bill, and that was a good enough signal for the slaughter as any. Dragging the waiter inside where three couples remained, along with the other wait staff and chef, the three vampires made quick work of them.

They only screamed for a few minutes, and, after no one came running, Spike relaxed and picked up an arm to drain it into a glass, then went to the cellar to find some more of that fine Burgundy. When he returned, Drusilla was staring into the blood-spattered mirror behind the bar. It had been an attractive piece, as most of the fixtures in the place. Someone had spent some money to bring the elegance of art nouveau to this section of Paris.

There was a really pretty nude lady lamp he was thinking of making off with.

Licking her fingers, Darla stepped over a corpse, making sure her pretty silver pumps avoided the pool of blood, and joined Drusilla behind the bar. "What do you see?"

"...War, but not for many years. This place will burn and there will be so much death." A pout formed on Drusilla's lips. "And then the communists will take much of the world and turn it very dull."

"Dru has issues with Communism."

"Outside of the needless slaughter, they are rather boring. Why on earth would we want to share everything equally?" Darla grinned and reached for a bottle of brandy. Breaking the seal, she put the bottle to her lips and drank deeply, then held it out to Drusilla, teasing her and dripping the heady liquor into the other female's open mouth.

Settling himself at a table with his mixture of wine and blood, Spike watched his two companions laughing and drinking. He wasn't at all surprised when they started kissing and the bottle crashed to the floor. Putting his feet up on the table, he leaned his chair back and adjusted the front of his tight trousers.

Both female vampires wore the latest fashion--filmy dresses held up with narrow straps and falling to mid calf, and stockings but no under things. Darla's hand was the first to snake beneath the other's dress, but Drusilla quickly matched her and they both tumbled to the floor at Spike's feet, mouths pressed tightly together, hands fondling soft, wet flesh.

Spike drank in the scent of their arousal and briefly closed his eyes as their moans and whimpers filled the air. He opened them again to see Drusilla's head between Darla's thighs, the layers of silk flung up around the blonde's waist. Her legs were spread, and she had one hand on Drusilla's head, the other cupping her own naked breast. She arched in pleasure, her head rolling on the floor, blood staining her blonde hair, and cried out sharply as Drusilla quickly brought her to orgasm.

Popping her head up, Drusilla swung herself around to face Spike and lasciviously licked her lips.

That was all he needed. Reaching down, he yanked her to her feet and shoved her over the table. Rising to his own feet, he pulled up her dress, unfastened his trousers, and sank into her wet quim. As Drusilla braced herself on the table, Spike pounded into her, which rubbed her clitoris against the wooden edge. She moaned, groaned, whined and whimpered, and he fucked her harder, driving the table forward inch by inch.

As he felt his lover clenching her muscles around him in orgasm, he gave a loud grunt and spilled into her in great shudders.

"You've obviously improved," Darla said, applauding lightly from her sprawled position on the floor. "That was almost...vicious."

Pulling out of Drusilla and leaving her babbling her pleasure, Spike patted her bottom and fixed his trousers. "Whatever makes Drusilla happy," he replied noncommittally and picked up his glass to take another sip.

End


End file.
